


The Foggy Dew

by wolfiefics



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Elseworlds, Gen, Irish fight for independence, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 17:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20510957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfiefics/pseuds/wolfiefics
Summary: This is an Elseworlds story dealing with Roy Harper, Arsenal of the Titans. Thrown into the middle of the hotbed nation of Ireland in the turn of the 20th century, Roy Harper, searching for Harpers in Ireland finds himself swept up in the fervor that would become the Easter Rebellion.





	1. Chapter 1

  
'Twas down the glen one Easter morn  
To a city fair rode I.  
When Ireland's line of marching men  
In squadrons passed me by.  
No pipe did hum, no battle drum  
Did sound its dread tattoo  
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey's swell  
Rang out in the foggy dew.

"Irish men and Irish women, listen to me words now! For over 500 years we have stood in the oppressive shadow of our island neighbor England. For these past 200 years, our ancestors have fought valiantly in an effort to become our own nation, to be in charge of our own destinies! England, however, sees us differently! She views us as recalcitrant children, wayward barbarians that need our hands held and our arses wiped! Do we need stand for this? Do we need our lives controlled by those who know nothing of us, of our past, our present and our future? What right does a nation that already controls most of God's glorious Earth have to tell Ireland how to live? Do they know us that well, better than we know ourselves?"

The speaker was dramatic, Roy Harper noted that to himself right away. Fresh from America, the young man noted the fiery passion that burned in the man's eyes. Of Irish stock that, during the potato famines, fled to find better lives in America, Roy Harper was a man searching for his roots. His grandfather remembered often to his grandson of his fighting in the American Civil War, a young boy following in his father's footsteps to stop the oppression of a people.

"Roy, me boy, no man should be under the thumb of another, no matter the color of his skin. Those darkies are no more ignorant than we Irish, but the enemy couldn't see that. All they saw was the difference."

As Roy looked up at the stage orator his grandfather's words rang in his mind. He'd missed some more of the speech, but it probably followed the same line, he reasoned.

"Who will stand with us? Who will join the fight for Irish freedom? Who will fight for Ireland?" The crowd roared it's approval in various spots, while some just drifted away, shaking their heads.

"Damned fools, they are, thinkin' to defeat the British." An elderly woman passed by Roy, who stepped aside courteously. "Afternoon to ye," she said with a wide, open smile. "Yer not from around here, are ye?"

"No, ma'am." Roy took his western-styled hat off as he answered her. "I've come from America. My family is from these parts and I'm hoping to find family who stayed behind."

"And who might yer family be then?" she asked, looking at him with renewed interest.

"Harper, ma'am. My great great grandfather took his family to America during the 1845 famines." Roy smiled pleasantly at a lovely girl who walked by with a basket of bread in her hands.

The elderly woman motioned him to walk with her. "Harper, ye say? Do not recall a Harper family, but Dublin is a big town, sure enough. You might be speakin' with the magistrate office. They might be knowin' of any family ye might have or know of someone else ye can speak with."

"Thank you, ma'am. It seems busy here. Is there something going on?" He looked around at the bustling crowd of people. He'd always been told that Ireland was a poor country and that wealth was not easily to hand. These people seemed well-dressed, though.

"Tis the Easter week comin' up!" The woman laughed gaily. "Did ye not know?"

Roy threw his head back and laughed heartily. "Indeed I had forgotten, ma'am, I surely did. I must go to Church and ask my penance for such a sin, shouldn't I?"

Her watery blue eyes twinkled at him in merriment. "Ye should," she agreed. "Have ye a place to stay this fine day?"

He shook his head. "I have only arrived here in Dublin, ma'am," he said. "I've not had time to find a place to bunk."

"Well," she chortled, "ye do now. When yer done scouring around fer yer folk, go to Connor Street. Look for the blue house with the clover in the yard and the swing on the porch. That'd be my hostel and I'll be glad to put ye up until time as ye leave."

"Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate it kindly." He doffed his hat and tipped it smartly at her before striding away. The old woman eyed his retreating form with an appreciative eye and then went her own way.

* * *

"Harper, Diarmid. I have a notation here that a Diarmid Harper left Dublin for the Americas and had his property sold to the government shortly afterward in deliquency of payment." The magistrate looked up over rimmed glasses with a rather disapproving look. "Would that be the Diarmid Harper ye lookin' for?"

Roy shrugged. "I have no idea, honestly. They told me very little," he confessed. "Just that my great great grandfather was an insurgent those years ago and left during the famine after his parents died."

"Well," the magistrate said, snapping the book closed, "I would suggest you try the Castle. They may have information. They do on all the insurgents and their families. Whether or not they will help you, I do not know. However, you might try."

Roy ignored the rather supercilious tone and touched the brim of his hat. "Thank you. I appreciate your help. Where can I find the Castle?"

"Dublin Castle." The man looked at him like he were daft. "It's the place where the British government keeps it's legal records. Ask your cabbie. He can take you there."

Roy tipped his hat again and strode out into the hazy sunlight. It was going to rain, he noted with dismay. Did the sun ever shine in Ireland?

So old Diarmid was a rebel against the English, Roy mused. Somehow that surprised him none at all. His great grandfather and grandfather both had been soldiers during the Civil War, fighting for the North. His father had been a secret member of the American branch of the Irish Republican Brotherhood. Roy had never paid much attention to it all, concentrating on living in the American West before it was washed away by civilization. He'd worked the oil fields of Oklahoma and Texas, making a bit of money for a rainy day future. He'd also been helping President Roosevelt's conservation trials of preserving national monuments, a sure way, he'd reckoned, of meeting oddball personalities of the American West.

It was there he'd learned the way of the Indians. Traveling from Yellowstone to the Grand Canyon, Roy had met his fair share of hostiles and friendlies. Traded with one and survived the others, and learned from both. Many men fond of their six shooters and Winchester Repeating Rifles scoffed at the bow and arrow quiver he carried with him, but he was good, better than good, some said. Why, he'd even been called a draw when going up against Little Sure Shot herself, Annie Oakley, though she had better tricks.

Yet still, at a time in America where it was common to see "No Irish Need Apply" on storefronts, Roy Harper was doing well for himself. Mother and Father were no longer living and there were no siblings or cousins, so it was time the wealth was shared to the Harpers across the ocean.

* * *

"The name's Anna O'Connell," the old woman told him the minute his foot stepped through her threshold. "You'll have to forgive the company," she said as she gave two men a harsh look. Roy nodded to them in greeting but no names were exchanged. "Did ye find who ye were lookin' for?"

Roy shook his head. "The magistrate only said that my great great grandfather lost his property to the government when he left Ireland, mostly because he was an insurgent and he couldn't pay his taxes. Good thing I didn't expect this to be easy." The two mens heads lifted at the word 'insurgent'. One scowled while the other took an interested air. "He suggested I go to Dublin Castle to find out more, but when I asked the cabbie to take me he merely snorted and drove me here instead." Roy looked at the sly woman before him. "What's the Castle and how did he know to bring me here?"

"Anna takes in all the Americans, that's how he knew, my friend," the interested man said with a wide smile. "The name's Andrew Fitzpatrick. What might yer name be?"

Roy shook the pro-offered hand. "Roy Harper, late of the Americas."

"What part? New York City? Boston?" The man leaned against the door, open to let in fresh air, despite the slight chill to it.

"Um, no, west. Oklahoma territory now, though I've been all over."

"A cowboy then!" The man laughed delightedly. "Good fighting man then, ye are?"

Anna slapped Andrew in the arm warningly. "Mind yerself. Don't be dragging an innocent man lookin' fer his family into a fight that is not his."

"I beg your pardon, Anna, but what do both of you mean?" Roy was interested in the turn the conversation was taking. "Are you talking about the Irish Republican Brotherhood? My father was a member of the American branch. The Irish in America are just as passionate about Ireland even though we no longer live here."

Anna gave him a sour look and shuffled away, muttering to herself. Andrew shot her a fond look and shook his head. "She lost her husband fightin' the English so she's a bit bitter about it all. Thinks we're all damn fools and she's probably right." He laughed.

"Lookin' fer relatives, ye say?" asked the other man, stepping forward. "Best way to find someone with a background like ye have is to go to the meeting with us. Someone there might be knowin'." The other man ignored the warning look Andrew gave him. "The name's Connor Riley. I'm a recruiter."

"Recruiter?" asked Roy with a bemused smile.

"For the army." Roy's smile faded and he took a step back cautiously, his eyes sliding around the room in quick perusal. "The Irish Army, son, not the English. No conscription here."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "I heard someone speaking this afternoon. Passionate orator but he wasn't getting anywhere with it. People seem to be happy right now."

"No, they're temporarily sated," growled Andrew, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "The English have promised the Home Rule Bill will be put into effect after the war in Europe ends, so they are patient. Some of us have heard this before, been hearing it for decades now and we're sick of it. It's time to take a stand one more time."

Roy grinned. "That's what they said in America." Both men looked at him inquiringly. "A war with France, who joined forces with some revolutionaries brought about the American Revolution triumph. Sometimes all it takes is tenacity, a healthy dose of stupidity, blind luck, and some good strategic timing."

"Sounds like you were a military man yerself!" grinned Andrew, slapping the American on his back cheerfully.

Roy nodded. "Fought some Indians. You think the English are tough? Try fighting the red indian, my friend. Those bucks were scary. Smart too. You'd be surprised how long you can hold out against a damn scary enemy."

"I have no idea what ye said, my friend, but yer all right? Ye comin'?" Andrew looked at the clock in the parlor and grimaced. "If ye decide to go, have Anna send a note round to Vaughn's. We'll send someone after ye, that way ye don't get lost and ask the wrong person for directions." Andrew winked at him and Connor gave a short wave. The two men soon disappeared from view and Roy looked around curiously.

"Are the scamps gone, then?" Anna emerged from another room, a smudge of flour on her nose. Roy fought down his smile at the sight.

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you for your hospitality. I'll pay handsomely." Roy hung his hat on the hat rack and shrugged off his jacket. His bag, one of medium size, was still out on the porch.

"Of course ye'll pay, but ye'll pay what I tell ye to pay," corrected Anna with a smile. "Now get in here and sit yerself down. It's time for supper and you'll be the first at the table in a week."

Roy caught the hitch in her voice. "Business that bad, Anna?" Anna gave him a sharp look. "I'll pay double what you charge and if your cooking's as good as it smells I'll pay for the dinner separately."

Anna's mouth jaw dropped when he pulled out a roll of pound notes and peeled off two large denominations and tucked them into her apron. When she continued to stare at him in shock he chuckled. "Get going, woman! I'm hungry and I'm payin' good!"

Anna shook herself, pulled the notes out reverently and her eyes watered slighted. "Bless ye, my boy. Ye'll be getting food better than any His Royal Majesty is chewin' on right now!" She hustled away and Roy gave a boom of laughter.


	2. Chapter 2

Right proudly high over Dublin town  
They hung out a flag of war.  
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky  
Than at Suvla or Sud el Bar.  
And from the plains of Royal Meath  
Strong men came hurrying through;  
While Brittania's sons with their long-range guns  
Sailed in from the foggy dew.

"Are ye sure he's not a Castle informer?" hissed a voice somewhere to Roy's right. He sighed. True, he hadn't expected to be welcomed with open arms, but he wasn't here to fight for Ireland's independence, let alone jeopardize it.

"I'm sure," he whispered to the man who'd hissed the statement. The man's eyes widened significantly and he had the grace to look chagrined.

"Good ears," grinned Andrew on his left.

"You have to have 'em where I come from. That and a long attention span." Roy smiled at Andrew's snort of laughter. "I thought you said I might be able to find someone to help me?"

"Well, ye said yer father was a member of the Brotherhood in America, I thought that might be useful here. That and you might be asked to join our cause. Someone with yer military background would be an asset."

Roy leaned into Andrew. "I already served my army time, my friend. I'm not looking for more. When do you plan to 'engage the enemy'?" Roy frowned heavily at Andrew, who was discomfited at the rough expression. Andrew suddenly saw the American for the dangerous man he could be. The Irish were desperate fighters, but this American had seen fighting Andrew could only imagine.

"Easter Monday. We plan to take over Dublin's public buildings and incite the citizens to help us. With their support, we hope to make the English to give in and give up." Andrew confessed the plan quietly.

"You all are fools," Roy stated quietly. "It won't be that easy. This city is the perfect setup for a seige, Andrew. You can't be serious."

"We are, and we're desperate, my American friend. This is a last ditch effort on our part. Many of us are tired of being under the English thumb and hope that this will force them to just pass the bill and get it over with." Andrew's attention was caught by several men beginning to talk.

Roy listened in amazement as plans were revealed, desperate plans that may or may not work. It was revealed to the group that the English had been tipped off of some of the plans but they voted to continue the capture of Dublin anyway. Roy shook his head in wonder, his estimation of the Irish rising significantly. These were dangerous waters they were treading in, had been treading in, and yet they were still ready to dive in head first.

Roy wasn't sure if it took guts, a lot of stupidity or both, but he had a feeling that whatever it was, he had it too. As he listened to the men plot and scheme, Roy's patriotism stirred. He hadn't paid much attention to the Great War being fought in Europe, as America wasn't been participating. Yet. He wouldn't be drafted, having served more than his fair share in the Army out west already.

Though only in his upper 20s, Roy had seen a full life of fighting. He lied to get into the military at fifteen and had been wandering the gold fields and what was left of the miningtowns even as late as the early ought years. When oil boomed, he'd dug his head in the ground and came up with several wells of the black gold. President Roosevelt had called for adventurous men wanting to build up national monuments, to preserve America's history and Roy had answered, helping scout out and survey lands from Wyoming to Arizona. He was seasoned man, for sure, and a man with a lust for freedom. To see others struggling for something he'd taken for granted, Roy now saw what had made his father so passionate about the Irish cause.

As the evening passed into late night, Roy listened, catching the fever of revolution. By the time they all disbanded, the plans were well-seeding Roy's mind. "I'll do it, Andrew."

Andrew paused and looked at Roy. "What will ye do, Roy?"

"Join the cause. Come get me when it's time and I'll join you."

Andrew gave a wide grin. "Ye've got guts, American, but have ye got a gun?"

Roy shook his head. "No," he said with a grin. "But I'll have something I can handle better."


	3. Chapter 3

'Twas England bade our wild geese go  
That small nations might be free.  
Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves  
On the fringe of the grey North Sea.  
But had they died by Pearse's side  
Or fought with Gathal Bruga,  
Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep  
'Neath the hills of the foggy dew.

"Are ye really that foolish?" asked Anna, aghast at Roy's announcement.

He considered her expression for a moment. "Tell me what happened," was his reply.

She turned away and then turned back, her weathered face turning dark. "It twas nothing planned, just a raid on munitions barrack down in Limerick. He wandered off in the night and never returned. His friends came back to me and said he'd been captured, taken by the British. I tried to get in to see him, but the guards at the gate wouldn't let me in. Wouldn't even tell me if he were there." Her eyes took on a haunted look. "I swear, though, I could hear him screaming."

Roy just stared. He'd heard some of the men whisper last night, but had dismissed it.

"I waited for three days and one morning I open my door and there he sits in the porch swing. He lasted another two days with my care but eventually he left this world for the next." Her eyes hardened. "Foolishness, that's what it is," she spat, "plain foolishness. We can't win against them, why do they even try?"

Roy continued to watch her and the old woman stared back. Finally he spoke, soft considering words. "I was with the army for about five years and we had chased this renegade group of Indians into Idaho up in the northwest part of America. Most of their people had given up and gone to the reservation, but this old man and his followers that amounted to three families just wouldn't go. They were stealing from settlers and generally causing a bit of mischief. Our commander hated the red men and took the whole thing way too personally, so we went chasing after them in the cold winter, snow up to our waists in some areas."

He paused, and looked down at the weapon in his hand. "We must have followed them for three or four days, just a small company of us, rifles loaded and ready for anything. Many of the men, well, they were seasoned fighters, having fought warriors like Geronimo just a decade before. Me, I didn't know anything, was a snot-nosed kid from a New Mexico gold boom town. I thought it was a big adventure, that we were going to take out some horrible scourge."

"Well, that last night I was on guard duty with two other soldiers. We were freezing, teeth chattering, about as quiet as howling dogs, muttering under our breaths and cursing. This little kid walks up to me and hands me a scrap of pemmican, which is just dried meat. He then hands the other two some as well and then disappears into the dark shadows of the trees. We start freaking out as soon as our brains kick in, it all happened so quickly. One of the guys, he starts shoutin' about Indians, not making any sense, rousing the whole camp. Me, I just stare at that bit of meat. That little boy was with a group of renegades who were no doubt half-starved and more cold than we were and he just handed over that meat because he knew we'd need the nutrition. It was the most bizarre thing I ever saw."

"We caught up with them the next morning. Several of them had frozen to death overnight and I looked for that little boy, I swear it, Anna, but I never found him. Later, I asked one of the women who knew English from some mission school she'd attended as a child about the boy. She shook her head, said it was wrong to talk about the dead. I badgered her a bit more and finally she said that he gave us that meat to show that he was free."

"Free?" sputtered Anna in perplexion.

Roy slowly nodded. "Yeah, free. I didn't get it either. The kid was dead, obviously, he wasn't free. It took some time to figure it out. He *was* free, Anna, free from being chased, being forced to do things, be things he wasn't. He didn't have to go to a white man's church because the white man said so, he didn't have to go to a white man's school because a white man said so. Did you know that they aren't allowed to speak their own language? Isn't it like that here? How many people speak Irish now?"

Dawning understanding lit up Anna's eyes. "He was free because he was no longer being forced to do somethin' he didn't want to do."

Roy nodded again. "Maybe that's how your husband felt, how all those men fightin' for Ireland feel. They aren't free, Anna, and they know it, feel it and want it. And death is still freedom."

Anna left the room, her face thoughtful. Roy glanced down at the bow in his hands. It was made of fine wood and strong sinew. He had several replacement sinew strands that he carried with him always should one break. He'd picked it up off one of the frozen corpses and over time had taught himself how to use it. He'd made friends with various Indians on his travels, and some helped him perfect his technique to almost perfection. Despite all the modern advances of weaponry, Roy found that he found more uses for the bow than the gun.

He smiled grimly and wondered if the British would know what to do when a arrow flew through the air right at them this coming week end.


	4. Chapter 4

The bravest fell, and the solemn bell  
Rang mournfully and clear  
For those who died that Eastertide  
In the springing of the year.  
And the world did gaze in deep amaze  
At those fearless men and true  
Who bore the fight that freedom's light  
Might shine through the foggy dew.

Mortars crackled through the air, giving everything an almost distancing quality to it, as if in a dream. Roy scrambled out of the way of a falling beam and rolled as another fell in front of him.

"The damn place is coming down around our ears!" shouted a man merely introduced to him as Mick.

"Aye, and it's only going to get worse!" came an answering shout.

Roy scrambled back to the small window that had lost its glass the day before, peering out into the smoky haze that was now the only thing he could see of Dublin, besides destroyed buildings and hacked off British militarymen.

What happened to the tacky redcoats he'd learned about in school?

The thought came unbidden into his mind and he gave a loud laugh. Two men looked over at him, alarmed. "Are you hurt?" demanded one.

Roy shook his head, wiping tears from his filthy cheeks. "No, I was just thinking, don't the English wear red coats and march with tall black hats on their heads?"

The Irishmen looked at each other in confusion. "Yer daft!" snorted one and took a potshot out the window. He gave a triumphant grin. "I'll be damned! I got one!"

Roy leaned out, narrowly avoiding getting his head blown off. "We're all damned, my friend."

"We're supposed to get out! Head for St. Stephens!" A voice shouted at them from the back.

There was a pause from them all and then a mad dash for the back exit they had created for just such a retreat. Honestly, Roy was surprised they'd held Liberty Hall as long they had. Dublin had started burning that morning and only a few men had stayed behind to give the British the impression that the Hall was still occupied. Roy had volunteered, over Andrew's protests, and for some strange reason was having the time of his life.

It was exhilarating, fighting an enemy you knew was going to win. Roy also knew that he was going to be lucky. Unless he was killed in the fighting the British didn't dare execute him if the revolutionaries surrendered; he was an American citizen with ties to the United States government and an American oil corporation. He _would_ be missed.

Another beam fell in front of him right before going out the exit and Roy leaped over it with a runner's ease. He paced with another man as they headed for St. Stephen's Green. About halfway there they met up with another small group.

"Don't go to the Green, the British have taken it too. De Valera's men gave them quite a beating but they still got through!" whooped Andrew. The Irishman spotted Roy and slapped him on the back. "Isn't this lovely?"

Roy gave a soot-faced grin. "It's something all right," he agreed. "So where do we go then, if not the Green?"

Another man called out as they all began to run. "We go to the Surgeon's College and will hole up there. Eventually we're supposed to make our way to the GPO."

Roy wracked his brain, trying to figure out what GPO meant. "Andy, what's the GPO?" he asked as they jogged toward the Royal Surgeon's College some distance away. The cries of people inside buildings they passed tore at them all.

"The General Post Office, Roy! Our central headquarters now from the sounds of things." Andrew gave a merry laugh, enjoying the thrill of sure defeat as much as Roy was.

'Oh, yeah,' Roy thought to himself. The group of armed men passed a sporting store and Roy halted. He'd run out of arrows yesterday, even firing them sparingly. "I'll catch up!" he told Andrew and darted inside.

"Oh no, you don't," Andrew spat as he followed Roy. "What are ye doin', man?"

"Getting ammunition." Roy ran up and down the aisles quickly and grabbed several handfuls of hunting arrows and shoved them in the quiver that was still slung over his back.

Andrew stared at him for a moment. "You mean you actually are _using_ that thing?" he said in awe, motioning to the primitive weapon.

Roy gave a sly grin. "You should have heard the confused shouts when I shot the hands of several riflemen camped outside the Hall," he informed his friend. "They were shoutin' about us using rocks next. Not a half bad idea. Did you know that slingshots.."

"Never mind!" waved Andrew, trying to silence the explanation. "I guess as long as it works, it's fine." Roy only continued to grin. "Let's go catch up." They darted out into the street and began to run hard. They turned a corner and did a quick turn on a hapenny as a line of marching British soldiers came into view.

"I hope you know an alternate route," muttered Roy as they fled from gunfire and angry shouts of halt.

"Son," panted Andrew, "yer talkin' to a man born and raised in Dublin. I know her better than her builders."

They dodged through streets, stopping only long enough to catch their breath. They'd outrun the soldiers several blocks back and miraculously hadn't been shot in the back either. Roy wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I always thought luck of the Irish was bad luck!" he chuckled outloud at his thoughts. Andrew gave him an inquiringly look. "We're dodging British troops who have the most atrocious aim I've ever seen. How'd we get so lucky?"

"All that luck is being wasted on us," laughed Andrew. "Come on, only a few more blocks."

* * *

"The name's Mick Collins!" the man shouted over the roar of mortar shells.

Roy nodded, turned and fired an arrow. He had no idea where it went since he couldn't see anything. He only hoped it hit something useful and did some sort of damage. He was starting to flag, as food was almost non-existent. He'd lived some hard times in America, but never half-starved and fighting for every inch.

Now Roy knew how that old Indian man felt as his Army troop chased the little band through the Idaho snowy mountains.

"Roy Harper!" he yelled back after taking a deep breath.

"You're that American looking fer his family?" Collins shouted back. Roy only nodded again and fired an arrow at an officer he could see. The man's form collapsed and Roy grinned arrogantly. "Good shooting! You came in from the Labor Hall, right? Talk about walking into something! Did ye have a clue what you were gettin' into when ye volunteered?"

"No, I didn't," admitted Roy, which was true. He'd figured they'd have been crushed long before this. "Yeah, we got out of there late Wednesday morning and got here that afternoon after dodging troops." Roy ducked as plaster and debris scattered everywhere from a well-aimed shot. "What is it, Friday now?"

Collins nodded this time. "Aye, one hell of a long week."

"No, just hell!" Roy shot back cheerfully. He examined his quiver. Only five more left. He was going to have to make them good.

"Roy!" Andrew came limping up. The evening before he'd dodged when he should have ducked and took a metal shrapnel in the hip. He was in pain but refused to acknowledge it. "They are evacuatin' the women and some of the boys want you to go with them. All of them can shoot and we don't want you caught up in whatever they do to any prisoners. We're heading for King's Court and leave them shelling an empty building for a while."

Roy looked over at Collins, who was watching the exchange with interest. "I'm stayin'," he said firmly.

Andrew leaned in conspiratorially. "Roy, please, if you consider me a friend even in this short a time, do it. Ye've done more than yer share and far more than expected. Ye still have family to find. As a favor to me, please, go."

Roy continued to hesitate and then nodded slowly. "If you get out, I'll meet you at Anna's, all right?" Andrew nodded and gave a wink, shoving him back to the back of the building. Several women were already waiting, a couple with wounded they insisted were coming along. A few more joined and they crept out the back exit of the General Post Office of the British Government, leaving behind Ireland's fighting few.


	5. Chapter 5

And through the glen  
I rode again  
and my heart did griev'd so  
for I parted then with valiant men  
whom I never shall see more  
but to and fro in my dreams I go  
and I kneel and pray for you  
for slavery fled, oh glorious dead  
when you fell in the foggy dew

"You're an American?" The officer slapped Roy's face in disgust. "God, they're recruiting." Roy merely grinned. "And what's this?" The officer grabbed the bow out of Roy's hand and he lunged for it, getting a rifle butt in the face for his trouble.

Several soldiers started laughing at the primitive weapon. "You have got to be joking," one snorted in laughter.

"I managed to hurt several of your buddies," grumbled Roy groggily. "I wouldn't be laughing. I'd be happy to give a demonstration of it's efficiency."

"Damned Yank." Roy grinned arrogantly again. "Damned Irish Yank." The grin got bigger. The officer only frowned. "Let the Lord General deal with him. Can't shoot the bugger. It'll cause an 'international incident'. Seems America is the only place that thinks the Irish have any value." They shoved Roy forward and soon he was marching with several other prisoners.

"An American, eh?" The Lord General eyed him suspiciously. "Bringing arms over, are you?"

Roy shook his head. "Came looking for family and got sympathetic. Told them how easy you guys are to chase off. Thought I'd give them some pointers. After all, we chased you off twice." Roy's head cocked to one side. "Whatever happened to those stupid red coats and the dumb black hats? It made you better targets."

"Get him out!" roared the Lord General.

Roy laughed all the way to the prison barracks.

* * *

"Mick said this was going to fun?" panted Roy, as he dodged the crowd around them.

"Nah," said Harry Borland, Mick Collins' right hand man. "He just said it *could* be fun." The two grinned and continued to wind their way through the streets of Dublin. Roy took pride in the fact that he was learning Dublin as well as Andrew had once bragged he did.

* * *

"They walked out!" Mick Collins' raged. "They stood up, basically told me to go to hell and walked out. What the hell did they want? Ireland on a silver platter?"

Roy stood quietly to the side. He'd have said something but his throat was raw from breathing smoke in a burning building. Anna's house had burned to the ground the evening before in a vain attempt at killing 'the American'. Roy had gotten Anna out, but just barely.

"Is it the best we really can do, Mick?" someone asked from the back of the assembled group.

Mick nodded, eyes weary. "It is. It's a stepping stone and De Valera knew it. He sent me as his bloody scapegoat and now *he* looks good." Mick collapsed in a chair. "Now we have a bloody civil war on our hands." He held up the paper, the treaty that Ireland made with Britain making them a Republic except for the four upper counties, now called 'Northern Ireland'. It had not gone over well with the Irish Parliament and half of them had walked out in protest.

"Ireland will survive," Roy croaked. They all looked at him and he shrugged.

Mick started laughing. "That she will, my American compatriot, with folk like you. Irish to the bone, no matter where yer born!"

* * *

"Mick!" shouted Roy and dove from the passenger seat of the second car. They'd traveled all the way to County Cork to meet with the opposition, only to be beset by guerillas. "Damn and blast, why am I here?" he muttered to himself, returning fire with practiced ease and skill.

He glanced over and saw a man sprawled on the ground. Another man, Collins' aide was crouched next to him. The man looked up, a glazed expression that Roy knew all to well. Roy's mouth set into a grim line.

Michael Collins was dead.

"How many of us are left?" Roy wondered outloud.

* * *

Ireland was divided and Roy could stand no more. He fled with Anna to Ireland proper, leaving 'Northern' Ireland to her fighting. He settled the aged woman as best he could and settled down himself. A son and daughter was born to him. The daughter he eventually lost, but his son brought into the world another Roy Harper with the same red hair and mischievous, devil-may-care green eyes.

"Is he not fine, Father?" his son asked him one day as the boy played in the yard.

"Yes, he is," Roy agreed, wincing as his neck muscles creaked. "Do me a favor, son. I'm going to Dublin. I need to see some people there. How I wish I could know if those historical monuments I started helping to preserve in America are still around. Promise me you or little Roy there will go over someday and check for me?"

His son gazed at him with wide green eyes, much like his father's, much like his son's. "Yes, Father, we'll make sure of it."

* * *

Royal Meath. River Liffey. The Labor Hall. St. Stephen's Green. The Surgeon's College. The GPO. The Castle. Roy passed each one in his automobile taxi as he headed for his doctor's appointment. The cabbie stopped and waited for the old gentleman to get out, but he never did.

* * *

In America, Several Years Later....

"My name is Roy Harper. I'd like to fill out an application to work in the Parks Service. I'm not an American citizen but I have my work visa with me, as well as the other necessary paperwork." The young man had a slight Irish lilt to his speech.

"Any specific location, Mr. Harper?" said the bored employment agent.

"Anywhere between Yellowstone and the Grand Canyon."

"How about Arizona, sir?" stated the agent, shoving some papers forward.


End file.
